


Prophecies and Fairytales

by tqpannie



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Drama, F/M, Hogwarts Era, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-29
Updated: 2017-04-29
Packaged: 2018-10-25 13:13:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10764975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tqpannie/pseuds/tqpannie
Summary: Ron and Hermione attempt to comfort Harry...and find comfort in each other





	Prophecies and Fairytales

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

Hermione and Ron exchanged a nervous glance as they stood outside the drawing room door. They had discussed what they were going to say to Harry, and Hermione had agreed to do most of the talking. Ron took a deep breath and turned the handle of the door, allowing Hermione to enter the room first, and he stepped in behind her.

 

“Harry, we want to talk to you.”

 

Ron saw the sour expression that crossed Harry’s face and wondered if talking to them was that distasteful. Harry had been like this since he had arrived at headquarters two weeks ago. He wasn’t the same Harry that Ron had met six years ago—he was angry and bitter. He seemed desperate to drive away everyone who loved him.

 

“What is it now, Hermione? Come to talk some more about Sirius?”

 

He gave Hermione a look full of venom and Ron had to clench is fist to keep from punching him. How dare Harry treat Hermione badly, especially after all the help she had given him? Ron could feel his ears go hot with anger and he cleared his throat.

 

“Leave her alone, Harry,” he said, trying to rein in his temper. “She’s worried about you, and so am I, for that matter.”

 

“I don’t want to talk about Sirius,” Harry said, and his jaw clenched. “I won’t talk about Sirius.”

 

“Do you really believe you’re the only one hurting here?” Hermione looked at him. “Do you think you’re the only one who can feel the loss?” Her voice grew louder. “We all feel it -- Professor Lupin, Ron, and Ginny. Do you believe you have sole rights on guilt and grief?”

 

Harry looked up at Hermione. “You don’t understand, you will never understand,” he growled. “You didn’t see it happen. It wasn’t your fault. It’s all my fault.”

 

“Harry,” Ron said, “it wasn’t your fault. You -- I mean we did what we thought was right.” Ron was surprised to hear a bark of laughter come from Harry. He shared a confused look with Hermione.

 

“Aw yes, you two always following the boy who lived,” Harry snarled. “Perhaps it’s time you just leave me bloody well alone.” Harry turned and started to walk towards the door. Ron reached out and snagged his arm before he could go further.

 

“Don’t make me have Hermione hex you, Harry,” Ron said, his voice rising right along with his temper. “Bloody hell, Harry we’re your best mates—of course we’d follow you in to danger!”

 

Hermione took a step towards them and Ron shook his head, indicating he had it under control. He noticed she was biting her lip and that her eyes had welled with tears.

 

“You want to watch me die?” Harry taunted. “That’s what’s going to happen if you stick with me long enough.” Harry wrenched his arm from Ron’s grasp. “Or perhaps you actually fancy having a best mate who’s a murderer.”

 

“What!” Hermione and Ron said in unison, their mouths hanging open.

 

“That’s what it’s all boiling down to,” Harry said. “Haven’t I told you about the Prophecy?”

 

“Harry?”

 

She reached out her hand to touch his arm, and flinched when he slapped her hand away.

 

“I either have to kill Voldemort or be killed,” Harry raged. “What was it Dumbledore said? Ah yes, I believe it went, ‘either must die at the hand of the other, for neither can live while the other survives’.” He turned and walked to the door, beating his fist against it. The pounding echoed through the room and with each slam Ron saw Hermione flinch. Her eyes pleaded with him to do something, to make Harry stop, and Ron found himself rushing to grab Harry’s arm.

 

Ron shook himself and crossed the room, restraining Harry. He struggled to hold him still and finally resorted to holding his arms locked behind his back.

 

“I think the door’s had enough, mate.”

 

“You see—you see why you have to stop being my friends. I’m going to get you killed,” Harry whispered, looking desperately towards Hermione. “You understand, right Hermione?”

 

“I understand you’re being a prat,” Hermione said calmly. “You really believe you can just drive us away after six years?” She crossed the room to stand in front of him. “You and Ron were my first friends at Hogwarts. Do you honestly believe that I would abandon you now?”

 

“You should! You and Ron both! I don’t want you to die.”

 

“Harry, you know what? I don’t give a damn if you kill Voldemort and all his Deatheaters because no matter what you do—no matter how hard you try to push me away—you’re still my best mate,” Ron said fiercely.

 

Ron released his grip on Harry’s arms and met his eyes evenly.

 

“No matter what,” Ron whispered softly. “Always.”

 

Ron’s words seemed to penatrate the wall that Harry had attempted to build around himself. Ron looked helplessly at Hermione when Harry sunk to his knees. Deep shudders racked Harry’s body and his mouth hung open; a silent sob seemed to hang there as all the emotions he’d held in check for so long welled to the surface.

 

Hermione dropped to her knees in front of Harry and reached a shaking hand out to stroke his hair. Ron was reminded suddenly of his mother, the way she would stroke his hair when he was sick, and he knelt down next to them.

 

“Always—Harry,” she whispered, and wrapped her arms around him.

 

Harry’s sobs filled the room and Ron felt pieces of his heart break with every tortured sob that came from Harry. He laid a tentative hand on Harry’s back and entwined his fingers with Hermione’s. His other hand fell to Harry’s shoulder and he squeezed it softly. Harry continued sobbing until it seemed like he could cry no longer. His head fell to Hermione’s shoulder and eventually his breathing evened out and Ron could tell he was asleep.

 

“Hermione?”

 

“Shh…He’s sleeping.”

 

“I know—listen. I’m going to put him to bed.”

 

Hermione shot him a puzzled glance. Ron knew what she was going to say before she opened her mouth.

 

“I don’t need a wand for everything,” he whispered, and couldn’t suppress the smirk on his face. “I’m going to carry him.”

 

He let his eyes trace over her worried features and then glanced to where their fingers were still entwined. It felt so good to just hold her hand like this—it made him feel close to her, and his heart made a decision he wasn’t sure his mind was ready for. He couldn’t stop himself and the words left his lips before he could stop them.

 

“Will you wait here? I really want to talk to you. Just let me get him in bed. I’ll ask Ginny to sit with him for a bit.”

 

“It’s awfully late, Ron.”

 

“Please?”

 

“Oh all right, if you’re sure your Mum won’t be angry.”

 

They kneeled there for another moment and stared at each other. She didn’t seem any more inclined to untangle their fingers than he did. His heart raced and he forced himself to clear his throat and speak.

 

“I guess I’d better get on with this then.” He reluctantly released her hand, thinking to himself that he was going to hold her hand again as soon as he could. He picked Harry up and Hermione rushed to the door to pull it open for him. He gave her a strained smile before heading down the hall towards the room he shared with Harry.

 

He heard Ginny before he saw her; she was whistling some tune from the wireless, and as she came around the corner she gasped.

 

“Did you hex him Ron?”

 

“Don’t be stupid—He’s asleep, and keep your voice down. This is the first time he’s slept since he got here.”

 

He could hear her footsteps following him down the hall and when he reached the door of his room she darted around him to open it. She rushed to the bed, pulling the sheets and blanket back, and he could feel her eyes on him when he covered Harry.

 

“You’re a good friend, Ron.”

 

He felt his face go hot with her words and shrugged his shoulders. Turning around, her regarded her nervously—wondering if she was really over her crush on Harry like Hermione had said.

 

“Will you sit with him? I mean, I don’t want to leave him alone—he’ll wake up confused, and I need to talk to Hermione.”

 

“I’ll sit with him,” she answered softly. “Of course I’ll sit with him.”

 

“Ginny, you’re a good friend too. I owe you one.”

 

“I’ll be collecting, Ron, don’t worry.”

 

He headed towards the door and he heard the bedsprings shift as she sat down on the edge of the bed. He turned back when he reached the doorway and looked. He watched as she fussed over Harry—making sure the blanket was tucked firmly around him. He saw her lift her hand to brush some stray fringe off his forehead and he knew for certain Ginny still had feelings for Harry—after all, Hermione hadn’t said she’d gotten over Harry… only that she’d given up on him.

 

He opened the door to find Hermione staring out the window into the moonlit night. The moonlight was filtering in and cast a glow around her and his heart stopped. She was beautiful, not in the classic sense of Lavender or Pavarati, but in a way that was hers and hers alone. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, he simply stared at her back. A sniffle broke him out of his trance and she wrapped her arms around herself.

 

“Hermione?”

 

He approached her cautiously and saw her shoulders shake with suppressed sobs. He didn’t stop to think about his actions, he simply wrapped his arms around her and pulled her back against his chest. He felt her hands clutching his and he entwined their fingers together again.

 

“It’s not fair… not fair…”

 

Her grip tightened on his fingers. “We’re suppose to be teenagers—worried about going out, having fun, and exams. No one should have carry the burden Harry does.”

 

“It isn’t fair. I use to be jealous and wish that I was Harry because he was the Boy Who Lived,” he said softly against the top of her hair. “Now…I’d trade places with him just to give him a moment’s peace.”

 

“Ron, did your mum ever read you fairytales?” she asked, and leaned her head back to look up at him. “You know, the ones where good always wins and love conquers all?”

 

Ron nodded his head and waited for her to continue. Their eyes met and she seemed to be searching for something in his. He could see the fear there, the sadness, and it made him want to protect her—to keep all this from affecting her. He couldn’t and he wouldn’t—Harry was going to need them both, and as much as he hated to admit it, they were going to need Hermione.

 

“Do you think it’s true? Good always wins and that love will save us?”

 

“I like to believe,” he started, but stopped, biting his lip nervously. “Promise you won’t laugh?”

 

“Go on, Ron—I promise.”

 

“I like to believe that love will save us—that it’s the only thing that’s stronger than evil.”

 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered softly. “Ron—I’m really sorry.”

 

“You’re going to laugh at me aren’t you?”

 

He started to pull back and tried to untangle their fingers. She simply tightened her fingers around his and stepped back into him again.

 

 

“No—I’m sorry I said that you had the emotional range of a teaspoon. You amaze me sometimes—the way you handled Harry without losing your temper and what you just said. I was wrong, and I’m very sorry, Ron.”

 

Ron couldn’t speak—no one had ever said anything like that to him and his heart pounded wildly in his chest. He wanted to tell her how amazing he thought she was—how wonderful she was and how he meant it that night he told her she was the most wonderful person he had ever met. He opened his mouth to speak but he couldn’t squeeze the words past the lump in his throat. Instead he did the only other thing he could think of: he lifted one her hands, never loosening his grip on her fingers, and kissed the back of her hand. His lips tingled at the contact and he heard her breath hitch in her throat.

 

“I’m sorry too,” he whispered softly, and she leaned her head back to look at him. He could read the question in her eyes so he continued. “For calling you a nightmare, for blaming you for Scabbers, and for the whole ruddy mess at the Yule ball.”

 

He took a deep breath, drawing oxygen into his nerve-wracked body, and watched as her eyes filled with tears.

 

“Ron, bickering is a part of who we are—we just both care…”

 

She bit her bottom lip nervously and it drew his attention. He couldn’t help but wonder if her lips would be soft under his, if she would part them to let him taste her, and if she would return his kisses as passionately as she did everything else.

 

He lowered his head without any real thought and he could feel her warm breath against his lips. He was getting lost in her eyes and he forced his mind to cooperate. He had to tell her—so she’d know he meant it, that he wasn’t just saying the words, and so she’d understand before he claimed her lips how much he cared about her.

 

“You’re right,” he said softly, struggling with the urge to kiss her, fighting it with every ounce of strength he had, “I do care—maybe more than I should, and I reckon if you don’t tell me not to I’m going to kiss you.”

 

He closed the space between them and pressed his lips to hers. He marveled at the softness and he heard her whimper and came undone. Three years of pent up longing and frustration broke free between the two of them. What started out as a gentle and chaste kiss quickly erupted into something much more dangerous. He parted her lips with his and shivered when he felt her tongue tentatively slide into his mouth and he eagerly brushed his along hers. They continued this way for what seemed like hours before they broke apart to draw shuddering breaths.

 

She buried her head against his chest and squeezed his fingers. It felt so right to bend and place a kiss on top of her head and he untangled theirs hands so that he could embrace her fully. He wrapped his arms around her waist and took a shuddering breath when she let him pull her closer.

 

“I’ve been wanting you to do that,” she whispered, looking up at him. “I’ve been waiting—what took you so long?”

 

“I’m a prat,” he said. and he smiled down at her when she laughed. “But rest assured, Hermione--I won’t make you wait again.”

 

He felt her smile against his lips when he claimed hers again—and he felt for the first time in his life the he was right where he belonged.


End file.
